


Space Cowboy

by MajorWinchesterFan



Category: MASH (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:33:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27317809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorWinchesterFan/pseuds/MajorWinchesterFan
Summary: It's Halloween, but Charles discovers that, sometimes, the most frightening things don't involve ghosts or goblins.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 15
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter One

The sharp, shrill sound of party horns and homemade paper whistles blasted annoyingly in Charles' ear, an unwelcome announcement of the impending arrival of his boorish tent-mates. Grimacing, he leaned forward, removing the needle from the recording of Mozart that he had been enjoying and waited.

"Hello, Chuckles," Pierce greeted, the door to the swamp slamming shut behind the head surgeon and his best friend. Hands on hips and shoulders puffed out to highlight the capital letter S sewn across the chest of his white long johns, Hawkeye affected his best superhero stance.

Winchester was not impressed, "Must you clowns ruin…" Catching a glimpse of BJ's painted face and big red nose as well as his chosen attire of oversized shoes, baggy pants, and red suspenders, he smirked. "Well, captain, it would seem," he drawled, "that you are decidedly dressed for the part. You are aware, Hunnicutt," he paused and, with a free hand, gestured dramatically up and down the mustachioed man's form, "that in your case, this would not actually be considered a costume."

"Har de, har, har, Chuck," BJ punctuated each syllable with a squeak of the horn he was carrying, "you're not allowed to go as the camp grump either, but…"

"Perish the thought!" Winchester interrupted. "I assure you that I shall not be attending this so-called shindig, in or out of costume." 

"Awww, c'mon, Chuckles, "Hawk whined. Flapping his Superman cape, he hopped onto the nearest table and proceeded to bound across the furniture, crates, and any other unfortunate objects located along his chosen path.   
  
“Pierce, you imbecile!" Rolling his eyes at his bunkmate's actions, Charles instinctively wrapped his arms around his prized phonograph as his fellow surgeon made a detour in his direction.

"Even Margaret's getting into the spirit," Hawk chided. "She's going as," he paused momentarily for dramatic effect, "Atilla the Hun," he cackled, earning a laugh from BJ and, surprisingly, even a slight grin from Major Ego. Hawkeye then furrowed his brow in mock concentration, "Or was it Ghenghis Khan?"

The sound of the door to the Swamp slamming open once more, startled all three officers, Turning their heads, they beheld the sight of one Maxwell Klinger, company clerk.

"Sirs," he saluted the pair of captains before turning towards Charles. "Hiya major," he uttered softly, his dark, bright eyes shining with anticipation. "So, whaddya think?" he asked, hitching his light blue gingham skirt up to just below the knee and sashaying, rather giddily, or so Hawk thought, towards Winchester.

Spying the silvery petticoat peeking at him from beneath the clerk's ensemble, Charles was mortified by his reaction to such an unexpectedly delightful sight. The intensity of the jolt of desire that surged deep in his loins was nearly painful. This can't be happening, he chanted inwardly, trying to distract his body from responding in such an inappropriate manner, this cannot be happening! Not here, not now, and certainly not Klinger!

Fighting the urge to throw his lovely corporal across his _cot….wait... what….his lovely corporal, where the hell had that come from?_ Shutting his eyes, Winchester shook his head back and forth in an effort to clear the image of Max lying beneath him in his bed, soft, warm, and beckoning.   
Feeling the heat creeping up the back of his neck, and knowing that Pierce and Hunnicutt must see the blush rising in his cheeks, Winchester resorted to what he did best when needing to hide his true feelings, he threw out an insult.

"Maaaax," the major drawled, and, had anyone ever bothered to pay attention, they would have noticed that the drawn out a's were a tell as to the level of desire Charles was feeling at any particular moment. The further he drew out the 'aah' in Max's name, the more powerful his longing. Unfortunately, the strength of his carnal desire also determined just how cutting his remarks would be. And, tonight, with his temperature, as well as certain parts of his anatomy on the rise, he couldn't afford to play nice. "I realize," he continued, "that for someone from such an uncivilized, uneducated, and uncouth background as yourself, dressing up for Halloween holds a certain appeal but pray tell, what are you supposed to be?"

"Really major," Klinger sounded disappointed. "You have no idea?"

"Nooooo, not a clue."

The corporal pointed to the six-shooter holstered in the gunbelt wrapped around his delicate waist, "I'm a space cowboy!" he exclaimed, reaching for the homemade sequin studded lasso slung over one shoulder. Uncoiling the rope, he began to whirl it madly above his head. 

"A what?" Charles burst into laughter.

"You heard me," Max glared at the Bostonian. "A space cowboy, or I guess, since I'm wearing a skirt, I probably shoulda said cowgirl.”

“Space cowboy?" Hawk hated to admit it, but he was intrigued, "how you'd come up with that?"

"From the movies. Cowboys are always out on the frontier, right, riding the range. Well, I heard somewhere that space is now the final frontier, so viola!" 

_Tonight, though,_ _I_ _plan on thoroughly exploring the frontier known as Charles Emerson Winchester the Third!_ _And, if my luck holds out, maybe this cowgirl will do_ _a bit of ridin' herself._

"And, what in heaven's name, does this space cowboy/cowgirl do, lasso the moon, wrangle stars, gallop across the universe on a unicorn p'rhaps? I must say, I'm disappointed in you, corporal." the officer sneered, "I would expect such foolishness from some back bayou bumpkin such as Rizzo…"

The makeshift lasso crumpled on the floor at Klinger's feet and the deflated look in the young man's normally bright eyes, startled Charles.

"Hey," BJ grabbed the tall officer's arm, "that's enough."

"It's ok cap'n," Max sighed, "I’ll handle this." Pulling himself up to his full height, he met Charles' gaze, "Listen, sir, just because you're stuck up in that ivory tower of yours, all alone, without any imagination or any idea of how to have a good time, doesn't mean ya get ta make fun of me for trying to forget I'm scared and miserable for a few hours."

 _Oh,dearest one, I don't mean to hurt you but_ _I_ _must!_ _I know you would never care for me as_ _I_ _do you._

"Hey, Klinger, why don't you come hang out with me and Beej at the O club," Hawk suggested. "As pretty as you look, you'll have the entire club eating outta the palm of your hand. There'll be plenty of fellas, other officers," he glanced at Charles, "offering to show you a good time. "Unless," he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, "you wanna give me an hour to shower and shave, then meet me in the supply tent. I'm sure I can round up some flowers and," he paused, giving the young man a leering look that made Charles want to gouge out Pierce's eyes, "if you're a good girl," he winked, picking up a bag of chocolate bars scoured from someone's black market connections, "I promise lots of treats, in addition to a full bag of tricks!"

At that last bit, the normally stoic, blue-blooded aristocrat stifled a scream, and for the first time in his life, Charles Emerson Winchester III was considering murder as a viable solution to his problems.

 _Wait!_ _What? No, please darling, not Pierce,_ _I_ _beg you, if it cannot be me, please, anyone but Pierce._ _You deserve to be more than just another one of his conquests._ _Not to mention, should you become_ _such, we shall be forced to conduct conjugal visits from_ _a_ _cell_.

"Thanks, but no thanks, sir," the clerk replied, gathering up his rope. "There's only one person I was hopin' to spend time with tonight," he muttered, "but, I can see _that's_ not gonna happen. Ever." He shot a brief, hurtful glance in Charles' direction and, then, he was gone.

Charles' shoulders slumped and he shoved his fists deep into the pockets of his fatigues, watching as the corporal retreated in the direction of the colonel's office, his face burning with shame at having hurt Max and at his own cowardice. Once he saw that the object of his affection had arrived safely, he turned and was greeted by two furious swamp rats.

BJ was in his face first, “Charles, what the hell is wrong with you!” 

“As of now Chuckles,” Hawk threw his hands up in despair, “you officially don’t have a heart.”

"And, just because you don't like him," Hunnicutt jabbed Winchester in the chest, causing him to wince, "doesn't give you the right to stomp on his!" 

"He can handle your arrogance, Charles. Hell, he's put up with it for two years trying to be your friend. But, if you break the kid's heart," Pierce warned, "I swear, I'll drive a stake through yours!"

"Gentlemen, what are you going on about?" 

"Klinger has feelings for you, you idiot," his friends cried in unison!

The major blushed, "now you're just being ridiculous!"

"He's been working on that skirt for weeks," Pierce informed him, "it's all he's talked about. Believe me, I know, because he jabbers my ear off whenever I get within a ten foot radius of his person. Do you think the major will like the color? I sure hope the major notices my stitching."

"And tonight, he waltzes in here modeling the damn thing for you as though Hawk and I weren't even in the room!" Hunnicutt shook his head in disgust. "Idiot." he repeated.

"Are you saying...no, it can't be," Charles stumbled toward his cot, "obviously, the three of you have concocted some elaborate scheme to… to get my hopes up…" the surgeon froze.

Hawk's brow shot up, "Wait, Charles. Are you saying… is there something you'd like to share with the group?" 

"Most certainly not…" 

BJ cut in, "Are you saying you return Klinger’s feelings?”

"Don't be absurd! Why, why the idea is preposterous. I… I am a Winchester," Charles bellowed. "and a Winchester would never…" he cried, waving his hand in the air. But he saw the moment the realization of the truth flashed through their eyes, felt the heat emanating from his cheeks and knew his secret was out.

"Well, well, well," Pierce grinned wickedly, flopping down on the cot beside Winchester. Crossing one leg over the other, he then propped his chin in both hands, "Details, doctor. I'm afraid I'm going to need details."

"Hawk, now is not the time. Listen, Charles, if you have feelings for Klinger, honest to goodness feelings, you should say something." Tilting his head to one side, the Californian intently studied the oft times arrogant bear of a man who was probably the loneliest person in camp. Suddenly the truth dawned on him and he snapped his fingers, "That's it! That's why you're always arguing, why you're always putting him down. To mask your real feelings."

"Look Beej" Hawkeye exclaimed gleefully, hopping from one foot to the other "it must be true, ole Chuckles here is turning the most magnificent shade of cranberry."

"Cretins! We're… we're hardly more than mere acquaintances."

"Me thinks, that ole Roman numeral 3, doth protest too much," the Crabapple Cove native grinned at the Bostonian's discomfort, "since when do mere acquaintances bicker like an old married couple?"

"Well," Charles rose from his bed, "if there's anyone who knows what it means to bicker like an old married couple, it's certainly the two of you!" he thundered, before storming out the door and leaving his fellow surgeons gaping after him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nurse Kellye and the major have an unexpected, but, very interesting conversation.

Stopping in the middle of the compound, Charles stole a furtive glance in the direction that his darling corporal had gone, but knowing his nosy tent mates were still watching, he quickly turned on his heel and headed towards post-op. Along the way, he passed several members of camp, all of whom were dressed in the most ridiculous getups. At least, he mused, Max had made the effort to don a garment that was tasteful, rather elegant even, considering it had been fashioned in the midst of a "police action." He thought of the petticoat hidden under the folds of Maxwell's skirt, and groaned inwardly, imagining how the silver fabric, soft and shining would feel beneath his fingertips. Suddenly, he felt a surge of jealousy, wondering just what type of favors the young man might have promised to acquire such exquisite material. Mustn't think about such things, he told himself, fidgeting absent-mindedly with the button of his shirt pocket, it really wasn't his business anyway, was it? He hurried on his way, attempting to escape that incriminating little voice in the back of his head that disagreed. 

Amid the glow of freshly carved jack-o-lanterns, the light from their evil grins casting faint shadows in the still corners of the camp, Charles pressed past the small groups of couples making their way to the festivities being held in the mess tent and at the O club. The sounds of their shared laughter and whispered conversations only served to drive home the fact that tonight, amongst this throng, he was the solely without partner or friend, and, as such, the Bostonian was filled with longing and heartache. But, worst of all, was the knowledge, as well as the guilt that came with it, he had only himself to blame. Nearing the entrance to post-op, his steps slowed as he tried to remember who was on duty and therefore had the good fortune of avoiding this night's nonsense. He seemed to recall Nurse Kellye volunteering for the honor. She and I seem to get along well enough, perhaps she wouldn't mind if I kept her company for an hour or two.

At present, there were only a couple of patients recovering at the 4077th. None of the cases involved were critical or life threatening, therefore, Colonel Potter had given all his surgeons a reprieve from post-op duty for the night. Charles had protested, saying he wasn't at all interested in such a heathen celebration, but Potter had insisted, saying, "you might change your mind there, Winchester, before the night is over." He had flashed that big toothy grin that appeared whenever, as the old soldier would say, something tickled his funny bone, and then, the colonel, dressed in full cowpoke gear and looking as though he had stepped straight out of a Tom Mix film, mosied towards the corral to fetch his girl for the evening, Miss Sophie. Had he known about Corporal Klinger’s antics as well, Charles wondered.

Upon seeing Major Winchester enter post-op, Nurse Kellye hurried over to him, "is anything wrong, doctor?" she asked, peering behind him.

"No, I just wasn't in the mood to participate in tonight's barbaric shenanigans. I thought I'd look over these charts, and then, if you'd like, I, ah, might keep you company for a bit."

"Really," the young woman seemed surprised, startled even, the major thought. She leaned sideways in order to see around his bulky frame.

Charles glanced over his shoulder, "Is there a problem?" 

"Oh, no sir," she answered quickly, though from the expression on her face, the young woman was clearly perplexed by the major's offer. Her eyes strayed once again towards the entrance.

"Are you expecting someone," Charles asked, "a gentleman caller, p'rhaps?" 

Kellye bit her lip, "well, the truth is."

"Say no more." The Bostonian gave a small smile, "Enjoy your evening, Lieutenant."

Seeing the sadness that flashed briefly in his eyes, the young woman stared thoughtfully after her superior officer, watching as he shuffled slowly back in the direction from which he'd entered. "Major Winchester, wait," she called out, as he placed a huge hand upon the door, pushing it slightly ajar, "it.. it wasn't that I was expecting someone other than you…" she hesitated, "but rather, I was expecting someone to be with you."

Charles turned, expression neutral, but Kellye could tell the man was offended, perhaps, even angry. She recognized it in that way which was uniquely Winchestrian, head sank between lifted shoulders in an effort to lower himself to eye level with the person to whom he was speaking. An action the man resorted to when bickering with someone shorter than him. Which, she giggled inwardly, in the major's case, was most everyone else in camp.

"And, if I might be so bold, to whom are you referring?"

Attempting to put her superior officer at ease, the young nurse met his gaze with a friendly smile, "Corporal Klinger, sir," she replied.

Drawing himself up to his full height, Charles peered down his nose at the young woman with an icy stare that turned his eyes the burning blue color of a gas flame, "why should Corporal Klinger and I be together tonight, or any night for that matter? We aren't even friends. As a matter of fact, we can't even be in the same room for ten minutes without a disagreement ensuing!"

"Oh," she waved nonchalantly, as if their bickering were the most natural thing in the world, "that's just pent up sexual tension."

"I beg your pardon, lieutenant!"

"But you're not denying it." she mumbled to herself. "Listen, major, the truth is that you, me, and Klinger, we actually have a lot more in common than you might think. Whether we like it or not, the three of us, we're outsiders.  
Take our heritage, for instance, folks often look at our esteemed company clerk and me and see only our ethnicity, the same way they look at you and see upper crust Boston. But, has anyone honestly attempted to get to know us? I'm betting no one ever offers to talk symphonies or classical music with you. Do you think anyone has ever asked Klinger about Lebanese culture or traditions?" She shook her head, "No, and, the only interest they've shown in my ethnicity is for coconut, macadamia fudge. And, even though we pretend not to be, each of us is insecure about our looks. Everyone makes fun of the corporal's nose." She motioned between the two of them, "you and I are both uncomfortable with our bodies."

Charles started to speak, to say it was unfathomable that a Winchester, what with their generations of superior stock and breeding, would ever feel insecure, _about anything!_

Waving a finger back and forth, Kellye stopped him in his tracks, "Don't try to tell me any different, sir. I've watched you suck in your gut, in hopes of appearing slimmer, seen how you hide beneath those tightly tucked layers of your uniform, much like Klinger hides beneath his skirts, only for a different reason. How many times, do you suppose, I've hung around the O club hoping for just a dance because no one's gonna ask _me_ to meet them in the supply tent or the back of an abandoned jeep. Captain Pierce, who's been with every nurse in camp and, most of those passing through, hasn't so much has given me a second glance." she wearily sighed. "But, you, at least, have a chance at some happiness.."

"Why are you telling me this? What makes you think I have the slightest, ah, interest in Maxwell? Or, he, in me?"  
  
Oh, it's Maxwell now, is it, she thought giddily. "I don't know how to explain it to you, sir. It's just there. And, I really can't, or shouldn't, say anything other than the corporal was really excited for tonight and the opportunity to model his latest creation from the Klinger Collection." _For your eyes only, of course._ "You know how he gets all wrapped up in his sewing?" Charles nodded. "Well, " Kellye grinned, "sometimes he talks to himself, forgetting there's a possibility that someone might be listening, and," her dark eyes danced mischievously, "he says the sweetest things about you!" 

"Please," Charles groaned, "please, tell me no one else is aware of his, ah, affections."

"Sorry, Major but you'd have to be blind not to see it, or, I suppose I should say, more like deaf not to hear it."

Charles, known for valuing his privacy, looked simply horrified, "Not to hear it? What, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you have this soft, sweet way of drawing out the a in Mah-ah-ah-x's name." Kellye smirked, attempting to imitate the Bostonian in an effort to demonstrate her point. And, then…"

"My god, there's more?" Charles made a quick swipe of his hand across the top of his balding dome, a nervous habit that manifested whenever the gentleman was overly excited or distressed. "What else could there be?"

"The way Klinger's lights up like a Christmas tree when you walk into a room and that cute, sexy way he greets you with, 'hiya major!"

"You said others have noticed, how can you be so sure?"

"I hate to break it to you, sir, but folks around camp have been taking bets for months now. The way most see it, there are three possible outcomes for this budding romantic scenario. It ends in either a fling, a proposal, or you having Klinger court-martialed for sullying the family name."

Overwhelmed with trying to process this newly found information, the surgeon began pacing the floor, his brain having gone into overdrive. Nurse Kellye watched as he filtered through the facts now in his possession. Once, twice, a third time, and then he came to an abrupt stop. "I've deeply hurt Max tonight, I… I don't think he'll forgive me." 

"Pardon me, sir, but might I give you some advice?"

At a loss as to what to do, Charles held his hands hopelessly out to the side, "Please,do." 

"No matter what Corporal Klinger says, just hold his gaze and keep talking. Trust me," she quirked an eyebrow at him, "when it comes to those charming blue eyes and that captivating voice, he doesn't stand a chance."

Blushing, the Bostonian simply gaped at his companion, unaccustomed to receiving even a remotely flattering statement concerning his physical attributes, or, his lack thereof, as Charles was more apt to put it.

"Like I said," Kellye found his awkwardness endearing, "he says the sweetest things!"

Upon hearing those words, Winchester pulled himself up to his full height, and then, with a determined look, made his way to the exit. Pushing the door open, he paused, turning back to the young woman on duty, "And, if I may, which outcome are you betting on, Lieutenant?"

"Love, major," she sighed happily, "You'll always find me on the side of love."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles does some soul searching. Colonel Potter and the Major have a little chat concerning Winchester's current predicament.

As Charles pushed through the doors which led from post-op directly into the clerk's office, his eyes fell upon the small, rumpled cot situated against the left wall. A horribly uncomfortable looking bunk, into which Klinger sometimes collapsed after a particularly long and difficult session in OR. The young man could also be found camping out there if Colonel Potter was awaiting information on when the next deluge of wounded would arrive or, when a member of the unit was expecting an important call from home. In these instances, the already sleep deprived company clerk/sentry/corpsman/etc, was expected to perform these additional duties, and perform them well, on less than his already abnormally small amount of allotted rest. Charles felt ashamed that he and the rest of the camp, thinking only of themselves, had never considered the burden their often unreasonable demands added to the corporal's workload. Oh, they were quick to criticize the young man when things went wrong, but, Charles wondered, had anyone ever taken a moment to acknowledge the sacrifices Klinger made on their behalf or to praise the hard working clerk for a job well done. He certainly had not and very much doubted that anyone else had either.  
  
Making his way to the side of the bed, Charles scanned the room, and, seeing he was alone, eased himself down on the cot, horrified to find it even more uncomfortable than the one on which he slept in the swamp. Sitting in the quiet darkness of the office, he closed his eyes, allowing himself to imagine Max lying there with him, propped up by those lean yet sturdy arms, strengthened from carrying litters for hours on end. Those dark eyes brightened by a mischievous smile as the kid from Toledo dared to lay his feet in the Boston blue blood's lap. And, knowing Maxwell, he'd tease Charles, "how 'bout givin' a gal a foot rub, major. Those heels were murder on my feet today." 

Thinking of the warmth of Maxwell beneath his fingertips, Charles tangled one hand in the rough blankets and thin military issue sheets. _The nights are getting colder,_ _I_ _must remember to have Honoria send along_ _a couple of_ down _comforters, one for Max, another, for Nurse Kellye._ _Anonymously, of course, he smiled._ _As well as,_ _a_ _pair of those flannel pajamas she loves._ Maxwell would certainly appreciate the feel of the fabric, soft and warm, against his skin on those unbearably cold Korean nights. He chuckled nervously, blushing at the thought of purchasing an article of clothing that Max would be wearing to bed! He filed that thought away to ponder later, in the still of the night, lying in his cold lonely bunk, as he pleasured himself beneath the cover of darkness.

Sweeping one broad hand gently across the pillow lying at the head of the bed, Charles shivered, picturing Max's raven curls pressed against the cool material, his long dark lashes occasionally fluttering as he slept, his chest rising and falling in a steady even rhythm. Suddenly, Winchester was struck by the realization that he had seen such an image, many times, in fact, while on duty in post-op. Charles, after completing his hourly rounds, always took a moment to check on Max. How often had he stood at those double doors, quietly peering through the window, grateful to see the overexerted clerk having an opportunity to catch up on some much needed rest. And, wasn't that interesting. Before tonight, he would have denied that he was doing anything other than simply checking on a friend, a poor attempt at deceiving himself concerning his true feelings for Maxwell. And yet, he had known all along, even before entering into that bogus relationship with the young Korean girl, Sooni, that his attachment to the corporal went much deeper than mere friendship. Charles, balding and burly, was keenly aware that, compared to his tent mates, he was lacking in the looks department. Knew that there was no way on earth, Max could, or would, ever find him attractive. It was the reason he'd chosen to give the young woman a dress from Klinger's collection when he could have easily purchased the latest fashions from Tokyo. He might never have the privilege of slipping such a silky creation slowly down the young man's delicate frame, and watching as it pooled in a velvet puddle around those slender ankles but, Charles had wanted one night in which he could pretend that he had done so. Even, if the person, for whom he had settled, was a poor substitute for the one he truly desired. His eyes widened, had he been so careless that others had noticed his desire for their esteemed company clerk? Perhaps, it was he, not Klinger, who was at fault for the assumptions, and, it would seem, wagers, being tossed about camp concerning a budding romance between a certain nco and his superior officer.

Charles stood, needing to speak with his friend but uncertain as to what to do. How should he approach him? What exactly should he say, provided, of course, that Max agreed to speak with him? As he considered his options, he kept looking towards the phone, thinking perhaps a call to the states would best provide the answers for which he was searching. Rubbing a hand over his face, he sighed in frustration, realizing he'd angered the only person in camp he knew capable of operating the damn thing. Now what, Charles? 

He was still at a loss several minutes later, when Colonel Potter strode in. "Hiding out in here, Winchester?" the older man asked. 

"Sir?"

"Heard about the little disagreement you and the little woman had earlier." he explained, studying the man's haggard expression. Well, it seemed the major, at least, had the decency to appear embarrassed.

"Well, ah," Charles glanced down at his boots, embarrassed by his commanding officer's reference to Klinger as his little woman, or, perhaps, he was reading more into it than the colonel had intended, "for reasons unbeknownst to me, Maxwell seems to have rather taken offense to my ah, earlier teasing."

The colonel who'd been rummaging through the clerk's desk, looked up in surprise, "Teasing, you say. Horse feathers! From what I hear, you were downright cruel! Listen, Winchester, I've been in this man's army too long for you fellas to pull the wool over my eyes. I know exactly how our little gal feels about you and I'd bet a month's pay that you do too. And, that's what's got you so worked up, you're scared to admit you feel something for him."

"Colonel are you suggesting…."

"I'm not suggesting anything, Winchester. As a matter of fact, to make sure there's no misunderstanding, I'm gonna spell it out for you. Our little company clerk is carrying a torch for you. And, you're…"

"Sir!" Charles protested, "as much as I might wish that were true…"

"Ha!" Potter interrupted, "now, we're getting somewhere."

Charles blushed at having been caught out. “Still, I fail to see…" he frowned as the older man went back to rummaging through Max's desk.

"Here we are," he tossed a paperback onto the desk, "allow me to present, exhibit A."

Baffled, Winchester reached down, picking up the well worn copy of the Oxford English Dictionary, "I fail to see the importance of this," he stated.

"It's Klinger's," Potter replied, as if that explained everything, "and, if I recall correctly, the boy did quite a bit of wheelin' and dealin' to come by it."

"And?" Charles raised a questioning brow.

"When the little gal ain't sewing, she spends a great deal of time looking up those fancy, fifty cent words you use."

"But… why?"

"To quote the kid, 'you talk real pretty.' That, and he tries real hard to learn the meaning of all those high falutin', Harvard educated, English words you like to throw around."

"That is hardly, ah, ample evidence of, ah, a great passion." Winchester stuttered.

"Have a seat, Major." Potter motioned to the swivel chair behind the clerk's desk. Pulling up a metal folding chair, he swung a leg over the seat so that he sat facing backwards, arms resting across the top of the frame as he held Charles' gaze.

“Whenever you need transport to Seoul, or Uijeongbu, or the 8063rd, who, without fail, is it that drives?"

"Klinger, of course." Winchester responded nonchalantly, as if there could be any other possible answer.

"I don't suppose it's ever occurred to you to wonder why?" 

"Nooooo, I can't say that it has."

"Ever notice that when Pierce or Hunnicutt take leave, it's  
Rizzo or Zale or some corpsman who drives?"

"Colonel, I'm so very glad to have a break from the madness that is the both of them together, that I could care less who drives, just so long as they are gone."

"Well, it's not Klinger, he hates those trips more than he hates sentry duty, so I refuse to send the lad."

"But, if... why would you… expect our pretty little corporal to transport me?"

Potter sighed. How was it that people who were absolutely brilliant as far as book smarts were concerned, could be so clueless when it came to matters of the heart. "It's not like I have to twist his arm," Potter chuckled. "Your pretty little corporal is a willing volunteer," he explained, then sat quietly allowing a few minutes for that bit of information to sink in. "Now, do you understand what I'm getting at?"

No, I suppose not, the old soldier decided, judging from the look of bewilderment on the major's face. "Do you have any idea how scared our little gal is pacing back and forth across the camp, all by her lonesome, at three in the morning?"

"Yes," Charles nodded, "of course. When that poor, sweet girl ties on her helmet with the ice blue straps of lace, it signals extreme distress."

Well, Potter thought, if you notice details such as that, maybe it's not as hopeless as I first thought.

"So, my question to you is this, if the lad's that distraught doing guard duty here at the 4077, amongst friends, how terrified must he be driving back to camp, alone, facing the possibility of sniper fire or being taken prisoner. Why would he put himself at risk to haul you around in this god-forsaken war zone?"

"If you are insinuating that Maxwell has feelings for me." Charles shoved his hands in his pockets, "suffice to say, that I am not worthy of such a gentle and generous heart."

Of all the things Potter had expected the major might say, it certainly had not been that, "I thought that Winchester blood running through your veins made you superior to everyone, especially here at the 4077th?"

"I am not worthy to be a Winchester either," the younger man murmured, defeatedly. 

The Bostonian ducked his head to hide his shame but the colonel had seen the pain etched in the other man's features. Well, he thought, such a telling remark certainly went a long way towards explaining his thoracic surgeon's often less than pleasant demeanor. Apparently, all his spouting off about Winchesters was merely a cover for the broken man hiding beneath those assumed layers of arrogance and ego. Like Pierce, with his constant antics, and Hunnicutt, with his, the boy next door charm, Charles had become like a son to the old cavalry officer. Seething with anger towards the folks responsible for instilling such self loathing in this brilliant surgeon who wielded miracles with a scalpel, Potter chose his next words with great care. 

"Major, you told me once that 'you cannot break the spirit of a Winchester'. Well, then start acting like it. Pull yourself up by the bootstraps and decide what your next course of action is gonna be. And, that's an order!"

An awkward silence followed as the two men glared at each other. "Colonel, you're a career army man," Charles finally ventured, "how can you be so accepting of, ah, my situation?" 

"I've lived through three wars, major. If a man's lucky enough to find a bit of happiness amongst such blood, and death, and pain, then who am I to say with whom he finds it."

Narrowing his eyes, Charles lifted his chin, at once, proud and determined, "I don't suppose, sir, that you know how to man the phone?"

"Just so happens you're in luck, my boy," the colonel grinned, cranking the phone, "Boston, right? To see if that sister can talk some sense into that thick skull of yours."

"Actually, sir, I'd like to call Toledo."

"Great Mother McCree, are you sure that's wise?"

Charles shrugged, "Who better to explain how to make amends for the wrongs I've inflicted than Maxwell's mother?"

"Well, you're on your own, now," Potter handed off the phone to the younger surgeon, before turning to leave. He paused at the door, watching as Charles waited for the call to be patched through. "And, Winchester?" he spoke in his most commanding tone, uncertain how the words he was about to speak would be received.

"Yes, colonel?" drawing himself up to his full height, Charles stood at attention.

"Good luck, son."

The major's head dipped again, but this time his face bore that small, tight lipped, bashful smile that, for Charles, indicated just as much happiness as one of BJ's big cheesy grins.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles makes an important call, seeking advice on how to right his wrongs.

Uncertain as to how his boldness at telephoning Toledo would be received by Klinger's mother, Charles nervously drummed the fingers of his free hand on the desk as he waited for the call to go through.

"Hello?" greeted a young female, who sounded very much like Maxwell. One of the many female cousins, Charles assumed, of whom the corporal often spoke. 

"Hello, um, well, ah," the major stuttered, suddenly finding himself at a loss as to how to introduce himself.

"Hello?" the voice on the line repeated. "Who is this?"

"Yes," Charles cleared his throat, "my name is Charles Emerson…" an exuberant cry, from the person on the other end of the line, interrupted him before he could finish his introduction. 

"Aunt Farida, come quickly! Max's, Major Winchester is on the phone!"

 _Max's major?_ _What on earth?_ _Had Max spoken of him to his family?_ He could hear Honoria chiding him, "Obviously, you idiot, and, often enough that they're familiar with your name. And, rank." she would point out rolling her eyes at him.

Does this mean you're going to propose, Major?" the voice returned, shaking him from his pondering. "Max always said, if we heard from you, it'd probably be to ask his ma for his hand. Aunt Farida's arthritis is acting up, so it'll take her a moment to get to the phone. But, not to worry, I guarantee, you have her blessing! By the way, Max wasn't kidding when he said your voice was heavenly! Oh, oh, that must mean your eyes really are an indescribable shade of blue! I can't wait to see them!" the young lady shrieked. "Max says he could gaze into their lovely depths for hours! I'm Nadia by the way, his youngest cousin. Looks like we're gonna be kin, huh?"

Taking the phone from his ear, Charles glanced down at it in disbelief. _Good heavens, he wondered, was everyone in Klinger's family as forthcoming and loquacious as Max and Nadia?_ He continued listening, in stunned silence, to the girl's bright chatter, his cheeks blushing so brightly, he wondered if they might be seen through the phone. _Proposal, blessing, lovely eyes, kin?_

Another woman, older, speaking in excited tones of what Charles assumed was Lebanese, entered the conversation, with Nadia translating. "Aunt   
Farida would like to know where you're calling from?"

In his dazed state, the officer nearly replied Korea, before remembering Klinger's mother believed her son to be stationed in New Jersey. "I have the honor of serving with Corporal Klinger at Fort Dix." he replied in his most dignified tone, pausing to allow Nadia to pass along the information, which, after she had done so, Charles found himself being blasted with a string of what, he could only suppose, were Lebanese curses.

"Aunt Farida is very upset! Says, she already has one son who lies to her. New son must not lie."

"But, how? I don't..." Charles' voice suddenly faltered as he took in the significance of Farida's words. _Wait, was_ she _referring to **him** as the new son?_ If so, that meant that this woman, whom he had never met, was already proving to be more accepting of him than his own parents had ever been or would ever be, for that matter.

"Max sends most of his pay home, Major. Fort Dix is not so far away that Aunt Farida would not try to visit her only son. And, she hoped to meet the man who'd brought her Max much joy."

"So she is aware that Maxwell is…." his voice broke.

"In Korea? Yes."

"Please, make my apologies to your aunt."

After some back and forth between the two women in Arabic, Nadia spoke softly, "Aunt Farida understands you were only trying to shield her from the truth for Max's sake, because you are a good friend. And, my cousin has told us that you are an honorable man. She is willing to forgive you, on one condition."

"Anything," Charles pleaded, without an inkling of pride or even the slightest care that his family would think his actions had sullied the Winchester name, "I will gladly do whatever is required of me!"

"You must promise, no more lies."

"Upon my word and honor, never again," he swore.

Having finished his conversation with Farida, a determined Charles Emerson Winchester set off on a mission And, if anyone knew where to find what Klinger's mother had suggested would help worm his way back into the good graces of Maxwell Q. Klinger, it would be the proprietor of Rosie's Bar. 

After having spoken with Rosie to acquire the information he sought, Charles went in search of Colonel Potter. Explaining the purpose of his pursuit, the colonel happily approved his requisition for a jeep, and soon Winchester was making the short trek to a nearby village, a crusade of sorts, to secure an offering he hoped would bring a measure of redemption for the sins he had committed earlier that night.

When Charles returned to camp, he came bearing not one, but two gifts. Pulling to a stop in front of the swamp, he hopped out of the jeep, grinning broadly, grateful, for the Halloween celebrations which meant his tent mates, as well as the rest of the unit, without the threat of casualties looming on the horizon, would certainly be out to an ungodly hour cavorting and getting up to only god knew what. Carrying his precious cargo inside, he tucked the box safely under his bunk, grabbed his shaving kit and headed to the showers.

It was nearly midnight when Charles, showered, freshly shaven, and clad in dress browns, approached Klinger's tent with gifts in tow. He knelt, gently settling the box in the dust at his feet, before removing his hat and tucking it up under one arm. Taking a deep breath, Winchester raised his arm to knock, praying that Max would, indeed, be there. Suddenly, mid air, his hand froze, pale knuckles hovering mere inches above the door's wooden frame. What if you've ruined your chance with the young man, he asked himself. Suppose Maxwell had decided to look around, had decided he deserved better. Perhaps at this very moment, his darling corporal lay in the arms of someone younger, better looking, and certainly much kinder.

 _Stop it, Charles, he scolded himself, as he tried to recall Mama Farida's words of encouragement, for once in your life be brave, you have everything to gain._ _Unless Max refuses you, then you stand to lose everything, including his friendship._ Now, filled with uncertainty, the tall Bostonian's hand fell loosely at his side, the reality of the situation hitting him so hard that he doubled over, hands on hips, his breath coming in small, short gasps, as the words, "what should I do?" repeated themselves on a loop in his fatigued brain. Charles stared blankly at the cardboard box, his broad shoulders slumping as he came to a decision and knelt to take the box in his arms. Standing, he turned, intending to flee, only to find himself face to face with the young man who resided there.

"Max, you're alone," he blurted out, as relief swept through him. A short-lived emotion that was quickly replaced with agony and disappointment upon seeing that the clerk had exchanged the silver petticoat Charles longed to touch for army regulation fatigues.

"No need to rub it in, sir. I know better than anyone that I'm the only one in camp, that doesn't have someone," he spat, "well, besides you." _Didn't have to be that way, major._

Charles shook his head, "no, no, that, ah, was not my intention, to, ah…" he trailed off at Klinger's glare, pushing the box towards the corporal. "I’d hoped to find you here."

"Oh sure, 's ok to be around me now that you want something. Well, Colonel Potter gave me the night off, same as everyone else, sir, so if you need to mail that package, you'll just hafta wait until tomorrow."

"No, this is a gift.

"Who's the lucky person," the clerk eyed him curiously, "worthy of a gift from the great Charles Emerson Winchester?"

"It's for you." Charles hastened to explain, "An apology for tonight, and the, ah, many other times I've been so, ah, cruel towards you."

Max jerked his chin towards the box, "you keep it, sir, pretty sure there's nothing you've got that I'd want anyway." _Except your heart._

"I have it on good authority, that you'd be tickled pink, I believe the expression was, if presented with the contents of this box." Winchester declared, pressing the container into Klinger's arms, until, finally, the young man grudgingly accepted it.

"I don't understand," Klinger stared at the top of the box, "What is it you want from me, sir?"

"Nothing." _Everything._ _Whatever your heart has to offer,_ _I will gladly accept because it's more than_ _I deserve._ "Please Max," Charles nodded towards the box, "open it and afterwards, if you ask me to go, you have my word as a Winchester, I shall not bother you, ever again."

Now, the company clerk, who had been subjected to his fair share of pranks while in Korea, grew suspicious, "This some prank you and the captains cooked up?" he asked, giving the box a shake.

"Nooooo, it is not. Be gentle, Max. The contents are, ah, fragile."

A sudden burst of movement inside the box, spooked the corporal, causing him to toss the package aside. “Maxwell, no!" Charles roared, diving headfirst, arms outstretched, into the dust of the compound, his huge hands scooping beneath the cardboard before it came into contact with the ground.

Bewildered by the other man's actions, Klinger stared in astonishment at his superior officer, the fastidious Major Winchester, lying in the dirt, his dress browns covered with dust, shoes scuffed, hat crushed. _What the hell?_ He watched in disbelief as the man rose to his knees, frantically tearing at the folded cardboard flaps serving as the container's lid. His curiosity piqued, Max came to stand at the major's side. Glancing over the larger man's shoulder, his eyes widened and his breath caught as he took in the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen, Charles Emerson Winchester cradling kittens to his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Sending a shout out to State of Integrity for inspiring me to write, for allowing me to bounce ideas off her, for being so very encouraging, for all our lovely conversations, and most of all, for your friendship!! Thank you!!


End file.
